


The Swedes to Thank

by Sheriarty



Series: Blank Spaces [5]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Arthur Has Issues, Communication is the key, M/M, POV Eames (Inception), but so does Eames so what else is new
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:14:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21732040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sheriarty/pseuds/Sheriarty
Summary: What happened after Cobb, Arthur and Eames get separated during their job in Malmö?An interlude to fill in another blank from "Crossing Paths", after which Arthur returns to Cobb in a far too good mood after being chased down by angry Swedish people.
Relationships: Arthur/Eames (Inception)
Series: Blank Spaces [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1509056
Comments: 2
Kudos: 78





	The Swedes to Thank

# The Swedes to Thank

  


“Fuck!” Eames can’t suppress the curse as he stumbles, an invisible force jerking him forward. As if, he notices half a second later, when his traitorous synopses finally catch up with the fact that he, apparently, just got shot in the shoulder from behind. He curses again, louder and his hand flies to his screaming shoulder, as he tumbles around the next corner and crumbles to his knees behind a dumpster. Grinding his jaw against the pain, he squeezes his eyes shut for a second, heart beat pounding in his throat, lungs screaming.

He isn’t made for running for long periods of time. He always liked to think of himself as more of a ‘hide from your problems’ kind of guy. Sadly hiding isn’t an option here, seeing they already fucking got him in the shoulder, and will turn the corner every second now.

“You’re such a mess,” Arthur’s voice sounds to his left and Eames manly doesn’t scream like a girl, but instead only wipes his head around to stare up to where the omega has materialized out of nowhere, gun cocked, before stepping around him and using the corner as cover.  
Eames’ heart is still beating heavily against his rip cage, but he can’t help the relieved chuckle bubbling up his throat. While Arthur ducks and pulls his gun straight, shoots at the poor bastards, Eames uses the breather to get his feet under his ass and push himself up against the wall. His knees shake slightly, but he stands steady enough. 

His shoulder hurts like a bitch. He doesn’t get the chance to see how bad the issue is, because suddenly Arthur breezes past him and grabs after his arm. “Run,” and Eames doesn’t have to be told twice.

\---

He is breathing shallowly as he leans against one of the dingy washbasins of the public restroom they managed to get to in some god forsaken part of Malmö.  
He tries to concentrate on continuing to apply pressure to the shot wound, letting his eyes trail around the dimly lit little room, the two stalls, ignoring (or trying to) the stench and the fact that he’s probably catching three different STI’s just breathing in the air here.

He tries and fails not to turn and look up into one of the broken mirrors, knowing he won’t like what he is seeing, but having the urge to do so anyway.  
“Oh bloody hell…,” he grunts as he peels himself out of his jacket and manages to open his shirt with one hand, before pushing it off over his shoulder. He needs to see if he can gauge whether the bullet is still lodged or not.  
When the door opens with a creaking sound, Eames almost goes into cardiac arrest and for a second Arthur and he just stare at each other. 

“I told you to keep pressure on it, you idiot,” the omega snaps, anger coloring his voice as he resolutely strides over, putting the small white package next to Eames onto the basin. Eames is still staring a little. He didn’t really think the omega would come back after dumping him in here and saying he would try find something to stitch him up with almost an hour ago. Eames had guessed that had been Arthur’s way of saying ‘good luck’ after already having saved his ass from the Swedes.

“And I told you to stand by the door and not directly in shooting vision by the mirrors,” Arthur adds sourly, as he starts to unpack the little kit he had gotten from who knows where.  
“Yes, mom,” Eames replies, but it lacks his usual sarcasm, watching Arthur’s profile as the man takes out the supplies. He really came back for him. Huh.

\---

Eames is silent, while trailing after Arthur through the small corridor of the motel they found near Glostrup, having managed to get across to Denmark in the hopes of being momentarily, or permanently, safe from the Swedes.  
Eames’ shoulder is throbbing with every step, but he had worst. He even had worst first-aid-kit stitch-ups from people less capable than Arthur, who had managed to patch him up in record time. The ghost of his warm fingers touching and probing still sends little chills down his spine. His feet are heavy, his limbs weighted down by the exhaustion of blood lost, shock and the draining feeling of adrenaline leaving the blood system. All he wants to do now is curl up somewhere and sleep.

Eames sighs wearily, once they’re in their room, making a beeline for the only chair right to the bed. There is a couch, too, but it looks as if it would probably break if Eames were to let himself fall onto it. He sinks down into the chair, groaning long and deep and closing his eyes, the back of his head resting backwards. Fuck, he hates it when people decide to shoot his ass and actually manage to hit. Why is it never like in the movies, where the bad guys are as useless as a potted plant with a gun? Probably depends on perspective – they aren’t exactly good guys either, are they?

He is jostled out of his almost dozing when something cold touches his cheek and his eyes flutter open again to take in the water bottle Arthur is poking him with. He grunts and reaches for it, only after Arthur lifts an expectant brow, the bottle bottom pressing into his cheek insistently. He knows he has to drink to make up for the blood loss. Doesn’t mean he has to be happy about being disturbed from his nap. 

Sitting up a little straighter, he unscrews the cap and takes a gulp, the ice cold water waking him up a little more as it slides down his dry throat. Suddenly realizing how thirsty he is, he takes another few sips quickly. He looks up to thank Arthur, and notices how the omega has moved away to the window, standing there with his back half-turned to Eames, arms crossed and looking outside. It isn’t hard to see the stiffness in his shoulders radiating tension. And nervousness, he notices in slight puzzlement. 

“Look, you can leave, if you want,” Eames offers, taking another sip of his water, melting back into the chair and looking at his left hand, noticing with a curl of his nose that there is still blood under and around his fingernails.  
Arthur only dignifies him with a look out the corners of his eyes, not even turning and Eames forces himself not to roll his eyes, ignoring the feeling nagging at the back of his head about being so obviously dismissed by the omega.

“I don’t need supervision. You helped me enough, I’m grateful, really. You don’t have to stay for my sake“, he tries again, voice a little more mollifying, wanting to give Arthur an easy way out, seeing how uncomfortable he clearly is with staying here. Eames gets it – it hits a little too close to home. A hotel room, the two of them, a bed – Eames understands. He picks a bit on his fingernails to get rid of the dried up blood under them. “It’s fine, I don’t mind”.

“If you want me to leave, just fucking say it,” Arthur grunts from his spot, looking at him with fire in his dark eyes.

“Just wanted to give you an easy way out,” Eames shrugs, because it’s true, but Arthur just bristles, “You would know about easy ways out,” he replies venomously and Eames stares back, staying quiet, until the omega scoffs and turns his glare away again to stare out of the window. 

Eames looks at him, silently for a while, taking the chance while Arthur is turned away. The defensive stance, the way he dismisses him (or tries to) and at the same time how he is unnaturally still, as if listening in on every little shift Eames does. He is always so defensive, so tightly curled in on himself. Even when they work together, there is always this tension between his shoulder blades, as if waiting for a strike – or holding himself back not to strike out himself. A small part in Eames itches. Itches to have Arthur uncurl. Wants him to reveal himself again, to open up like a flower. It’s a selfish thought, a selfish feeling, one Eames has no right to harbor, but he does and it keeps growing. 

_You would know about easy ways out_ , he repeats what Arthur just said in his own head.

“You know what happened back then…” he starts, leaving the sentence hanging in the air between them and observing the omega attentively to see how he reacts to Eames actually addressing what happened between them over four years ago, knowing Arthur had implied exactly that just now. So, technically, Arthur started the topic.

He realizes then, while speaking, that he never actually apologized for what he did and neither did Arthur for that matter. Probably because they never once openly talked about it.  
But they should have, Eames thinks, because they work together regularly, they work together all the time now and they work together well. They’re a damn good team and Eames likes working with Arthur. He likes being in his company even if it means needing to take suppressants and scent blockers on jobs. He likes Arthur’s stuck-up professionalism, his sharpness and his way of staying level-headed and clear-minded no matter the situation. 

He likes his company, Eames repeats in his head, surprising himself at admitting it. He likes Arthur. He likes the man’s biting humor, his quietness and his dry observation skills. He would have thought that the uptight, stern man would be the opposite of what Eames admires in people. Apparently, he is wrong about that. The serious man is so much more than the stoic mask he wears. 

He likes how Arthur shows his affection, how he shows that he likes you. How he has a picture of Mal and the children in his wallet (yeah, Eames might have pick-pocket him). He likes how he always reminds Cobb when to call his family, when the man forgets the time differences again. He likes how Arthur only rarely reaches out to touch someone affectionately, guarded and daresay shy, when not to deliver either violence or dominance.

He even likes it when Arthur chews others – or him – out verbally once in a while. Eames’ knows his plans go through the roof and he loses every sense of reality with his crazy ideas sometimes (he is an artist, a creator, his mind has to run a mile in a minute), so having someone rationalize and bulldozer over his ideas to keep him grounded is needed. He needs it.

He even likes the fighting, because it means he can let go once in a while and not always has to play the happy-go-lucky alpha everyone enjoys being around. He knows Arthur likes bitching back and being allowed to give someone the full brunt of his wrath. Not being rebuked or have people run screaming, because Eames can take it and dish it right back out. Arthur likes their fights just as well – they’re equals. Arthur likes him and his company. He knows it.

He also knows that in every interaction, in every look they share, every word they exchange, there is this giant, red glaring sign of what happened four years ago, hovering in the back of their minds.  
It’s there, in all their interactions. They both know it is there, they both act as if they don’t see it, as if it isn’t scratching on the back of their eyeballs.  
But it is there and Eames is sick of ignoring it, sick of acting as if it doesn’t have any effect on them. They have to talk about this, because they’re damn adults and Eames is relatively certain Arthur feels the same. It’s just that Arthur is a stick in the mud and would probably rather chop of his own legs and eat them before talking about that thing four years ago.

Arthur doesn’t disappoint. He stiffens like a plank as soon as the words leave Eames’ mouth. 

“Don’t-“, he presses out warningly between gritted teeth, clamping down like a pro, but Eames is sick of acting as if that shit four years ago didn’t happen. It won’t go away when they continue ignoring it. It festered enough as it is and Eames is man enough to admit it’s his fault. 

“I’m sorry what I did back then.”

Arthur probably cracks his neck with the speed he snaps it around to stare at Eames over his shoulder, eyes ablaze as if not being able to decide whether he should look defensive or suspicious. He settles on glaring at Eames. The alpha can’t fault him for that. 

They stare at each other for a few moments, before Arthur narrows his eyes, apparently deciding that Eames isn’t shitting him. He slowly turns around and Eames breaths a little deeper again. He had quickly learned that you had to be patient with Arthur and the man’s colossal anger management issues.  
And now that the omega looks at him, Eames won’t stop himself, getting everything out that has been bubbling under the surface for a long time already:

“I shouldn’t have done that. You were right, I was being a bloody coward. I wanted to scare you. I told myself I am teaching you a lesson to not just go around trusting someone, even less so in this business, but I guess in reality I just wanted to scare you off... because I was scared to hell myself. It was a condescending dick move.”

Arthur continues to stare at him after Eames closes his mouth and Eames isn’t quite sure whether he might have broken him just now. He stares back, a few seconds, before adding in what he hopes is a joking tone: “You know, that’s the part where you say you’re sorry, too”.

That earns him a mighty glare and a hearty “Fuck you, Eames,”, but Arthur’s lips twitch, betraying him, before they morph into a grin. Eames can feel his own mouth stretch in resonance and he knows the omega accepted the apology, even as he turns away again to look out of the window. Eames is pretty sure the other just doesn’t want him to see his smile.

He doesn’t get an apology in return and well, Eames guesses he deserves that and he had it coming. Still – it doesn’t sit right with him and he can’t ignore that he… feels disappointed somehow that Arthur isn’t saying anything at all about the matter.  
Nothing? 

Eames bites his lip, worrying it between his teeth for a moment, before blurting out, “I shouldn’t have blown you off like that,” which gets him a small twitch of Arthur’s shoulders, but nothing more. It has him deflate a little in his chair. He averts his eyes to the water bottle next to him and grabs after it, just to have something in his fingers, starting to pick a little on the label. 

“It was a shit move,” Arthur does eventually answer, still turned away from Eames, and when the alpha looks up, the omega adds, “But you were right. It wasn’t… thought through. We didn’t know each other back then. You could have easily blown my head off my shoulders, if you wanted to.”

That’s more admission than Eames would have expected and when their eyes meet as Arthur does look over his shoulder, Arthur smirks, “You still were a dick, though.”

Eames can’t help the snort bubbling up his throat, part surprise, part relief and they both look away, both smiling to themselves.

“We didn’t know each other back then, no”, Eames mumbles into the silence that had started to settle over them. He looks up again, Arthur is staring back, before his eyes almost too casually turn away again. It has Eames’ grin widen, something like giddiness dancing against his rip cage, as he adds: “We could get to know each other better now, you know”.

And Arthur’s gaze snaps up to him again, eyes widening a fraction. Eames swallows, heart thumbing against his chest and he knows the corners of his mouth start to tremble in an effort to keep up to grin, but it turns into a nervous grimace anyway. He can’t help it. But he wants this, he realizes. He does. He wants to try. He just doesn’t know if Arthur still wants. If he has the patience Eames is demanding for this. 

While they look at each other, Eames realizes that Arthur isn’t going to take a step – and really, it’s Eames own fault. He is the one that rebuked him first and really not in a polite way. He more or less kicked him out with his trousers around his ankles. He didn’t just refused him, he humiliated him, too. He has no right to expect Arthur to take any more steps towards him. It’s up to Eames now to try and make this work if he really wants it. Eames’ gaze drops to the bottle in his hands.

“I know I fucked up the first time, but if you’re still… interested,” Eames puts the bottle down again and scratches his neck briefly, breathing through his nose then and looking up to Arthur, eyes resolute, “.. Because I am”. There.

Arthur is still staring and if Eames wouldn’t know how still the omega can stand he’d wonder if someone just pushed the stop-button on the omega. But then his face shuts off, just like that and he looks to the side and Eames feel his heart sink. _Oh._

He knows he deserves that and he has no right to feel hurt, but he still does, can’t help it. His lips twitch into a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes and he harrumphs, shifting a little in the chair, “Ha… well, this is awkward,” he chuckles and looks away, too, blinking, before patting down his pants to search for his phone and have something to distract himself from his heart crumbling in his chest.  
His fingers are trembling a little as he fishes it out and unlocks the screen, not really knowing what he even wants to look at, but as long as it helps escape the uncomfortable situation he had just maneuvered them both into.

“I..,” Arthur starts up and the phone almost slips out of Eames’ fingers, as his gaze snaps up again to where the omega is crossing his arms, looking to the wall as if it holds some answers and not just ugly patterned wallpaper, “… need to think about it”.

Eames heart immediately leaps into his throat and he gives a weird sounds, which surprises them both, even as he tries to cover it up with another harrumph and a nod, “Yeah, sure, yes. Of course- oh you mean..,” his voice dies off, when Arthur grabs his coat and walks past him to the door. 

“Now. Yes. Alone,” and the omega is gone, the door falling shut behind him. 

Eames stares at the door. Arthur didn’t take a key with him. Eames wonders if he’ll see the omega again.

He slumps in his chair, staring down to his phone again, the screen gone dark already. “Fuck..,” he mumbles, groaning and leaning his head back until he stares up at the ceiling. He rubs a hand down his face and repeats: “Fuck”.

It’s almost an hour before Eames decides he should probably move out of the chair and think about what to do now instead of letting his thoughts keep spinning around the fact that he is an absolute dumbass confronting Arthur like this and leaving him no chance but to run. But it’s just the way he is. He needs to talk about these things, face to face, he can’t bury them and ignore them or wait until it resolves itself or gets forgotten. He isn’t afraid of confrontation – on the contrary. He needs it to clear things up, otherwise he feels antsy and unfinished. 

It’s with a long, deep sigh that he gets out of the armchair and his head pounds in resonance to it, reminding him of the fact that he had lost far too much blood to be doing more than lying down and sleeping. “Well…,” he mutters to himself, eyeing the bed and feeling like giving up if he goes to lie down now and stop hoping for Arthur to come back.

Before he has made two steps, he hears a knock on the door, which makes him freeze in his moves.

It’s Arthur, standing in front of him, with a big, white plastic back hanging from one hand and a sheepish look on his face that makes Eames realize that the omega must have forgotten to take a key with him in his hurry to leave the room. The alpha blinks before stepping aside to let him back in, watching him a little dazed.  
He _forgot_ the key in his hurry to leave the room, overwhelmed by Eames asking him to try out real dating. It’s so fucking endearing, Eames has to bite his lip to keep himself from doing something stupid, like purring or cooeing over it. And he brought food and drinks, because he knows Eames needs to stock up again and get some energy back into his system. Eames has the urge to follow after him and plaster himself along his back to huff into his neck affectionately. He wisely refrains from doing so, closing the door and stepping back into the room.

Arthur sits down on the ratty old couch, getting the small couch table towards him by hooking one foot around the leg and pulling it close. Putting the bag down, he takes out two take out cartons out next to each other along with chopsticks and napkins and then briefly looks up to Eames expectantly. 

The alpha blinks out of his love sick stupor and walks over to join him, sitting down next to him and pulling the carton on his side towards him. When he opens it and sees it’s his favorite, he freezes for a second, heart beating hard, and he falls a little bit more in love with Arthur for remembering.

They eat quietly, Eames cracking open the giant bottle of Coke Arthur brought along and taking big gulps from it. It’s usually not his kind of drink, but he isn’t picky, needing the sugar and liquid.  
He is nibbling on his chicken, when Arthur next to him murmurs, “Okay,” and nothing else and for a moment, Eames thinks he imagined it, turning to stare at the omega, chopsticks still in his mouth. 

He can practically see Arthur’s ears starting to turn red, the blush bleeding into his pale cheeks and down his neck, although the other refuses to look up from where he is pushing around food in his carton. 

Eames starts to smile, the giddiness rushing back to his stomach and his cheeks begin to hurt from grinning too much.  
“Stop that”, Arthur pushes a hand against his face and tries to get him to turn away, still not looking up from where he is furiously blushing and resolutely glaring at his food. Eames presses a kiss to Arthur’s palm which is squashing his face and he hears a snort in answer, before Arthur takes his hand back. 

Eames shifts a little closer and offers Arthur a slice of his fried chicken, delighted when Arthur takes it.

**Author's Note:**

> There you go, I hope you enjoyed them actually talking and apologizing like adults before making up <3


End file.
